Day Two

Jeff shook himself out of the hold of Daya’s perfume and walked over to the computers to work. He broke out his assignment and tried to put his head together.

Daya walked into her house, and put her books into her room. She lived with her parents in the same house she lived in through high school. She sat down on the couch and turned on TVU Music videos. She curled her legs under her and opened a book. Soon she heard pots and pans rattling in the kitchen as her dad worked to prepare dinner.

“Dad do you need some help?”

“No, Daya,” He replied as a fresh crash interrupted him. “I’ve got it. How does chili sound tonight.”

Chili sounded great, a perfect addition to the fall color, the crisp air and the music of longing souls. The spiciness would awaken her tongue to life and the warmth of the broth would meet the back of her throat and warm the core of her heart. Daya had come to attend to her food, and every part of her life as a revelation of reality. There was a spirituality in food for her and every bite and smell would immerse her in the presence of something bigger than herself, something boundless. The smell of the onions her dad was sautéing entered her awakening her longing glands, a wave of sensuality flooded over her, neck down to her toes like a gentle caress.

Jeff ran from the library back down Norris to the coffee shop he worked at. His legs pumped hard, he had left his studies too late. His head bobbed and his eyes flitted. Between each word something else encroached the folds of his brain, jolting him out of his concentration. He shook his head and broke out of the cycle of thought and dissipation. Thats when he saw the time, and burst from the library.

His breath was coming sharp and his lungs ached from the cold air. His legs throbbed and burned, but he didn’t want to be late again. Only a couple blocks further and his legs were numb to the shock of the footfalls. He burst through back door, shoved his timecard into the slot, washed his hands, doubled over the trash barrel and threw up. He leaned against the wall giving his heart a chance to catch up to his breath. His chest heaved and ached as he went to the drawer and pulled out an apron. Tying it behind his back he walked to the front his forehead cold with sweat. He walked through the counter area and to the cafe not smelling the aromas of the coffee around him. He walked to the bus tub and tables left with their messes without seeing the eye of the people sitting without hearing the music they were listening to. He missed the goose-bumps and the faces glowing with warmth of the music. He missed others indifferent to the music, lost in their love affairs and friends.

Daya’s dad plopped down on the couch next to her with a sigh.

“Got her done?”
“It’s simmering,” he replied as he pushed his glasses up on his face, and ran his hand through his curly hair.

“Long day?”

“Yeah, every day with people, right?”

Daya just smiled. She knew her dad’s work was stressful. She could see on his face the weariness and the strength that he showed.

“Do you miss mom?”

“Of course I do, honey,” he said with a smile, and eyes of compassion.

“Do you think she’ll come home?”

“I don’t know, Daya, I pray that she does every day. I really love her, still.”

“Me too.”

Jeff’s body weighed a ton. His foot fell heavy on the pavement. Every crack caught his toe. He couldn’t seem to lift his foot more than an inch from the ground. A pain stabbed between his shoulder blade. His shoulders stooped and his head swayed bent low as he walked. The pack on his back felt as heavy as the weight on his mind and the lump of despair in his heart. He longed for life, to feel alive and awake, but only felt time slipping through his fingers, his body numb and tired. Even the crisp autumn air felt dull and stifling in his nostrils this night.

Jeff walked though the door of his house, the lights were out. He dropped his bag and called out, “Anyone here?” He flipped the light on.

“Turn that light off, and shut your flap-trap,” his dad growled with a slur.

Jeff caught a glimpse of blood shot watery eyes under a scowl and pulled back. He snapped the light off with an inaudible sorry. He turned around the corner heading for the bathroom and saw his mother sitting on the edge of her bed, her eyes were dark and sunken. Her cheeks stained with tears and mascara. He turned in to the bathroom and sat in the dark closed his eyes on the world and listened to the sounds of his families despair in the silence. He heard the soft heaving of his mother’s sobs. She’s at it again, he thought. She never seems to have anything to cry about and yet she spends all her time either in bed or crying. Then his ears perceived deeper into the silence the rough snoring of his dad on the couch in the next room. Then deeper still he heard the scratching of dead leaves across the street. All was quiet, empty and dead. His ears grew accustomed to the silence like nocturnal eyes on a moonless night, when an explosion overcame him, like a blinding headlights, his straining ears were overwrought and his whole scull rang with the sound. He jumped. His dad snorteld and shouted shrilly, “Shut off that damn noise!”

Slowly he came to realize that his phone was ringing.

“Hey man! There’s a party at Rotters field, you in?”

Jeff thought for a moment. He felt his numb body and listened to the silence of despair, the cacophony of emptiness around his house.

“Yeah, if you come get me. I’m in.”

Minuets later the tires of a 78 pinto was squealing its tires away from Jeff’s house. The field was lit with the headlights from a dozen cars. A bonfire lit the center.